80 NATURAL HISTORY OF NUNBURNHOLMK. 



strike the breast of the cackling wild-goose as he is "going home" towards 

 night. He has no fear as he steadily wings his way to the Humber or 

 the Trent, of sharing the fate of the ill-starred eagle, 



"Which on the shaft that made him die 

 Espied a feather of his own, 

 Wherewith he'd wont to soar so high;" 



nor dreads that the "grey goose wing" that steers the shaft will in his 

 kindred "heart's bluid be wet." But I must come down from this "wild- 

 goose chase!" So much for "Number One" of the Fauna that compose 

 the Natural History of Nunburnholme. 



Number two. On the same principle that I claimed the Pink-footed 

 Goose as a species for my Natural History of this Garden — "the Garden of 

 England" — I might also claim the Kestrel, but I do so on a nearer view. 

 A specimen alighted one day on the birch tree in front of the house. 

 We have indeed a row of ivy-covered birch trees on one side of the 

 Rectory, but this birch tree I must tell you is a very beautiful tree, and 

 of the sort called the weeping birch — the female tree, I believe. Nothing 

 can be more exquisite than to see its hanging sprays filled with leaves in 

 the summer, and quivering with the gentle breeze of that time of the 

 year; and again in winter, 



"When the hoar-frost is chill 

 Upon mountain and rill," 



it is a lovely sight to see it sparkling in the sun with myriads of pearls 

 and diamonds; every little branch, every smallest twig frosted over with 

 silver, and exhibiting the new foliage of a night, which in its turn will 

 "fade and fall away" into its component drops, and be distilled into the 

 pure air from which it has descended. 



But I have left my Kestrel standing in the cold; not that he minds 

 it much — he will soon be gone: look at him while yet you may. There 

 is not a handsomer bird than the Kestrel, the male I mean, for the hen 

 bird is altogether of a different appearance, barred and mottled like a yearling. 

 But the male, what a beautiful back he has! where can you see such a 

 bright cinnamon colour? and how elegantly is it picked out with black cres- 

 cents! He is off: how well and easily he flies. Now he hovers: away he 

 sweeps — he is out of sight! 



Number three. Within three or four yards of our drawing-room windows 

 looking south, 



(To be continued.) 



